Title: Stop Playing...
Author: KinkyNicky
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest, underage
Word Count: 1,505
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimers: Sam and Dean belong to Kripke and others, they're not mine.
AN: I'd apologise for being such a fecking perv but I'm just NOT sorry.
Summary: Sam was fourteen the first time he touched Dean...


Sam was fourteen the first time he touched Dean. Just stepped forwards and took hold of him through his jeans. He wasn't sure at the time why he'd done it, and he completely understood when Dean had shoved him away, a weird angry-confused look on his face, brows drawn together as he left the room without saying anything.


He did it again a couple of weeks later, expecting the same reaction. He wasn't sure at the time why Dean changed his mind, didn't push him away again. He'd made sure they were eye to eye though, as he stood there just looking down at Sam, his face unreadable. 


"What're you doin', Sammy?"


His voice was steady, calm but curious and Sam had just blinked up at him, eyes big and innocent like always. "Touchin'." He'd mumbled, not breaking eye contact as he squeezed a little. 


Dean's eyes had rolled closed, a rough groan escaping him as his hand came around to the back of Sam's neck. "Why're you touching, Sammy?" That same calm, curiosity...with a touch of something else now. Need?


Sam shrugged and knew Dean felt it, though his brother's eyes stayed closed. "I want to." Was all he said. 


                                    *                                   *                                   *


He was almost fifteen the first time he slid down onto his knees. Dean had looked a little alarmed at first, but he'd guided Sam through it, telling him what he liked and what he didn't, wrapping a gentle hand in Sam's growing hair and hissing. 


He was at that playful age, so that's what he did. Everything was about discovery, about feeling new things. He liked the way Dean felt in his mouth, the weight, and he liked how Dean's hands felt in his hair and by his mouth, touching his lips sometimes while he sucked. Most of all he liked the way the head of Dean's cock felt against his tongue, so he would hover there, rubbing his tongue under and around the head, sometimes hearing Dean gasp and wanting to make him do it again.


He liked it best of all when Dean was naked, when he could run his hands up and down his brother's newly formed abs, circle his belly-button with a thumb while he used his tongue on the head.


Dean let him discover for a while, let Sam play and do it his way for a while, until one day he told Sam. If you're going to give a person a blow-job, it's not supposed to be about you, Sammy. It's about them. You want to make them feel good, that's why you do it.


Sam had nodded. I do want to make you feel good.


Most of the time he remembered that rule, made a point to do those things that Dean liked best...but sometimes he'd forget himself, lose himself in the feel of Dean's swelling head under his tongue.


There was humour in Dean's breathy voice and an affectionate smile on his face as he nudged his hips forwards slightly. "Stop playing. Suck." 


And Sam did, sucked Dean right the way in, he'd gotten real good at that, and smiled inwardly at his brother's long groan. Of course, Dean was right, it was all about making him feel good.


                                    *                                   *                                   * 


Sam never questioned why Dean didn't ever offer to reciprocate, and never asked him to. Sometimes, late at night Dean would reach around Sam and take hold of his cock, make him come that way, but he never once offered to suck Sam off.


The morning of Sam's sixteenth birthday he woke up to the feeling of Dean's fingers pressing into his mouth and a wet heat around his dick. He made a noise, a kind of loud noise that made Dean lift his head in alarm. He froze for a few seconds, before dipping his head to lay a kiss on Sam's thigh. 


"Shh, Sammy. Dad won't be asleep for long."


Confused from sleep Sam just nodded, aware enough not to let out the roar he felt inside his chest as he came in Dean's mouth two minutes later. With a quick kiss on the lips Dean was up and across the room. 


He'd barely climbed back into his own bed when the door had cracked open, their Dad stepping in with a smile. "Happy Birthday, Sammy."


                                    *                                   *                                   *


Nothing evolved beyond that point for a long time. When Sam was seventeen he threw it out there. I'm ready, Dean...you know...if you want to fuck me. But Dean had said no, pulling Sam in for a kiss and smiling, a kind of bittersweet something in his eyes.


Sam had asked why a few times too, but all Dean would ever say was It's not okay yet, Sammy. That? That's not okay yet. 


It took him a while to realise how it all worked for Dean. He'd weighed the seriousness of the things they did, decided when it was appropriate to touch Sammy in a certain way, have Sammy touch him in a certain way.


Dean had waited until his sixteenth birthday to suck him off. Now, Sammy realised, Dean was waiting for eighteen. Waiting until it was 'okay' to take the biggest step of them all. 


...The night before his eighteenth, Sam told Dean about the colleges he was applying for.


He probably should have thought on that decision a little more, but it had just slipped out, college had come up in conversation between them and then seemed like as perfect a time than ever. 


Except that Dean's face had fallen, suddenly losing the cheeky spark he'd had in his eye for a day or so, and Sam could have kicked himself. He'd followed when Dean left the room, stomping in the direction of their room.


Sam watched from the doorway as Dean pulled a paper bag from under his bed, just leaving it there as he paced a few times, turning to Sam suddenly. 


"College? Sam, fucking, college?!"


Returning to the bag he'd dragged out from under the bed, Dean started to pull things from it, angry, his eyes harsh, his stance livid. Candles, condoms...lube. 


He threw that right at Sam.


"You see all this?!" He yelled, his voice deep and rough, picking the string of condoms up from where he'd slammed them down on the bed, walking toward Sam and holding them up in his fist. "This was all for you. For us. You're leaving and you tell me now?!" The break in his voice came as he leaned on the now, and Sam could tell he was going to turn away before he did it. 


"It's not...it's not about you." Sam mumbled to Dean's back, reaching for his shoulder, cringing when Dean shrugged him away.


"It never was, was it?" It hurt Sam to hear the pain in Dean's voice, the kind of confusion that only comes with a sudden realisation. When Dean spun around his eyes were wet with tears he'd never admit to and his mouth was twisted, angry. "What the fuck was all of this Sam? Using me because you were curious?! Is that it?"


Sam was relieved Dad was out, knowing that nothing would've kept this outburst quiet, knowing deep down that nothing could fix what they'd had. He'd broken it. 


"That's not what I mean! I meant that leaving isn't about you. Listen to me, I...these past few years? It's because I wanted you. I still do." He reached out again, smiling a little when Dean didn't pull away again. "Let me make it up to you, I'm sorry. I...bad timing, I know. I'm useless...let me..." and his hands were on Dean's belt.


It was mostly undone before Dean's fingers closed around his wrists, and he looked up, meeting vulnerable brown-green eyes. 


"You're not leaving?"


It was the pause that did it. 


Sam let his hands fall away from Dean's belt as he closed his eyes, hearing Dean stifle a strangled sound. When he opened them again, his brother was across the room quietly picking up the candles and placing them back in the bag. He wasn't moving right, not like Dean. He looked weak, broken, like he'd been in a fight with a demon and had lost.




His brother stood up, turning to him again, and Sam watched as his face changed, his eyes growing dull and cold, his mouth setting in a hard line. He muttered "Don't." and Sam realised he'd just watched himself being shut out.


                                    *                                   *                                   *


Four years later, in a now unfamiliar car, driving to find their father after Dean has picked him up from Stanford, they have their first real conversation since the day before his eighteenth birthday. Sam slowly chips away at the wall Dean has built, watches Dean's mouth twitch up into a crooked smile, looks his brother in the eyes for the first time in too long. 


It's then that he realises the absolute truth above all else.


Nothing of great import is ever truly lost forever.

The End. Until the sequel.


Next story in series - Start Living....